


To See the Elves

by liptonrm



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Elves, Gen, Hobbits, Young Frodo Baggins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-12
Updated: 2009-12-12
Packaged: 2017-10-04 09:20:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liptonrm/pseuds/liptonrm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During an autumn journey with Bilbo, Frodo has an experience he will never forget.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To See the Elves

**Author's Note:**

> Dedication: To [](http://ancalime8301.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://ancalime8301.livejournal.com/)**ancalime8301**, on her birthday;-).

Frodo woke to the soft crackling of a hot campfire and the delicious aroma of potatoes and sausage fried to perfection, if his nose was any judge of the situation. The late afternoon sun shone warm on his face and Frodo, caught in that delightful haze between waking and sleeping, was certain that he had never felt more perfectly content.

"Come along, my boy." Bilbo's jolly voice blithely broke through Frodo's dream-like reverie. "If the smile on your face and the twitching of your nose are any sign, then you're most certainly awake." Frodo opened his eyes and his smile grew at the sight before him. The descending sun framed Bilbo with warmth and light as he bent over the rather large cooking fire and Frodo wasn't quite sure what he enjoyed more, the beauty of the setting sun, or the delicious way the potatoes had browned during cooking.

"Oh no," Frodo suddenly cried, springing up from the grass that had served so well during his nap. "I am so sorry Bilbo, it was my turn to cook and here I went and napped till evening. Why didn't you wake me?"

"Nonsense, lad, nonsense." Bilbo dismissed his concern with a wave of the cooking fork. "It was no trouble at all. You looked so peaceful sleeping there that I didn't have the heart to wake you. Was it a good nap, then?"

"Yes, it was wonderful, you crafty old hobbit, you." Frodo shook his finger at Bilbo and spared him a sardonic smile as he joined him at the fire. "I know very well why you didn't wake me. You didn't want to have to clean up after the meal, it being so much easier to dirty dishes than to clean them."

The laugh that he drew from Bilbo rang throughout the small clearing. "Oh Frodo," Bilbo choked out breathlessly as he recovered. "You know me much too well. I never can put anything over on you."

"No, you can't. At least, not since I have moved in to Bag End." Frodo handed Bilbo a plate heaped with a goodly portion of the hearty fare.

"Thank you, lad," Bilbo said and with that they both sat down and went about the serious chore of eating dinner. As they ate they talked very little; rather they enjoyed the briskness of the cooling September air, the deepening shadows under the trees and the delicious simplicity of well-cooked potatoes. From where they sat they could see much of the surrounding country and as afternoon deepened to evening they observed the effect the slowly setting Sun had on the bright colors of autumn; how a view so cheerful and homey could become mysterious and shimmeringly other as She creeped behind the hills.

The first stars had already appeared by the time Frodo set his hand to cleaning up the dinnerware. As he washed he idly hummed fragments of various songs, parts of elvish lays and hobbit walking songs coming together to form a muffled symphony that was completely his.

Bilbo listened on in contentment, a pipe in his hand. He did not believe that there was anything finer than a pleasant evening by a campfire, especially when one's stomach was full of such well-made food. The fire was delightfully warm and he was close to nodding off himself when Frodo finished the chores and returned to throw another log on the dwindling fire.

"So, my boy," Bilbo asked as he roused himself from his contemplations. "Have you enjoyed the trip?"

"Of course I have, as you very well know," Frodo replied with a grin. "Though, I can't help thinking that there is something that you're hiding, you old rascal. Just why were you so insistent that we journey through this particular portion of the Shire?"

Bilbo calmly smiled at him as he took another puff from his pipe. "My dear boy, I don't know from whom you seem to have inherited this most unBaggins-like suspicion. We came to 'this particular portion of the Shire' simply because I rather enjoy visiting it, especially at this time of year. I rather thought you would enjoy it as much as I do."

Frodo instantly felt a trifle abashed by his suspicious words, though that did not erase the nagging idea that Bilbo was up to something. There was an air about him; it was as if he was impatiently waiting for some sort of delightful joke to come to fruition.

"Very well then," Frodo replied amicably, lighting his own pipe and turning his eyes to gaze up at the stars. "I will leave you to your secrets." Frodo's gaze came down momentarily as he smiled widely at his companion. "I have enjoyed our trip, though. It has been absolutely lovely and I can't remember when I last had such a wonderful time. I am extremely grateful for your stubborn insistence."

"Think nothing of it," Bilbo replied drowsily. They sat in companionable silence, smoking contentedly as the firelight dimmed and the stars danced ever brighter in the heavens. Frodo was slowly nodding off, his mind lulled by the fading warmth of the fire and his thoughts drifting upward to join the beauty of the night sky. Softly, a sweet and haunting melody began to weave its way through his consciousness in such a way as to make him unsure whether it was real or merely a fragment of some forgotten dream. He felt as if his heart would leap out of his chest for the beauty of that music, and yet, at the same time, he was comforted and buoyed up by it. His thoughts took flight as his mind wound down ever nearer to sleep and the dreams that dwelt therein.

Frodo was startled out of his reverie by a brisk shake of his shoulder and he would have cried out in surprise if not for the hand that swiftly clamped down over his mouth.

"Hush, lad," Bilbo whispered in his ear. "Come with me and you'll see a sight few hobbits have ever witnessed."

Frodo quickly stood and with Bilbo ran as softly through the undergrowth as only a careful hobbit can. He nearly tripped over a root when he realized that the music that he had taken for a dream had not stopped upon his waking but rather had strengthened in both volume and beauty. Ahead through the trees he could glimpse a silver light that spoke of starlight and beauty and the great mysteries of the world.

They stopped just short of the boundary of the light. By chance or some subtle purpose of Bilbo's, they were well hidden behind underbrush that was large enough to conceal a hobbit or two but not large enough to conceal much of anything else. Frodo gazed rapturously at the sight before him, for he saw figures illuminated in the light, the beauty of whom he had always tried to imagine but whose reality far outshone any image his mind could construct.

"Are they elves?" Frodo whispered hoarsely. He felt as if his entire life had passed before him and he was exhausted and yet energized at the same time.

"Indeed they are," Bilbo whispered back. The light seemed to erase the years that Bilbo's face held and Frodo felt as if he were looking at the jolly young hobbit that had once been, and still was deep inside. "I was hoping we would meet one of the Travelling Companies and it seems we have a little luck with us after all. Shall we greet them?"

"Oh, yes," Frodo breathed happily and was rewarded with a glorious smile from his companion. With a wink and a nod they stepped forward around the undergrowth and into the light.

~~~

The evening passed like the memory of a dream and Frodo never could afterwards recall precisely what was spoken or what they may have eaten or drunk. What remained with him, as the years passed by, were a memory of grace and beauty unspeakable and a dream of music that would uplift him as he walked through life.


End file.
